


Who's That Stuck In My Brain?

by Roman (Ghoul1gan)



Series: For Your ENTERTAINMENT [2]
Category: Bandom, Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Bittersweet, Crushes, Crying, F/M, Longing, Mental Instability, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sad, anxiety-ish??, crying on the floor, he's not crazy just lonely and sad, like depression in a warm shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghoul1gan/pseuds/Roman
Summary: Awsten's falls too fast and too hard to keep up sometimes. He doesn't cope very well either.
Relationships: Awsten Knight/Original Character(s), Awsten Knight/Original Female Character(s)
Series: For Your ENTERTAINMENT [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627567
Kudos: 3





	Who's That Stuck In My Brain?

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this while I was working on Chapter 3 of 'Who's That Knockin' On My Ceiling'. Uh... it's not spoilers, persay. And it can be read without reading the original work.

4 AM. It was now _very_ early morning and Awsten was still struggling to stop thinking. It was just her. He was overthinking how he hadn’t finished a song in months. How he hadn’t eaten a salad in at least a year, and how his friends hadn’t had the time to see him in weeks. It was lonely, being stranded in this apartment.

Yeah, his balcony might be covered in shit, and he might wish the elevator was faster. But… he had good company. If he really thought about it, he was in far better hands now than he had been in years.

He crawled off of his bed, the sheets already on the floor in a careless lump. They smelled of sweat and musty anxiety. If he pressed his face to them he could smell the sour sick of sadness. Awsten swallowed thickly before letting himself softly fall to the floor, landing in a heap. He had found it odd, but therapeutic the first time he had thrown himself off the bed. The unnatural position stretched parts of his body he didn’t know were stiff, and the change in elevation did wonders for his breathing and sinuses if he was suppressing the urge to cry.

Which, he had been. Not very hard though. He’d come to the startling conclusion that maybe a good cry would help. Catharsis wasn’t his usual when it came to overwhelming emotions, but it felt better than caging himself in his own fear. Just embracing it and being open this way felt somehow less vulnerable than hiding behind walls.

With a grunt he sat up, rumpled hair getting caught under his head as he pulled himself up. He heard the air escape his mattress when he let his head hit it. 

“I’m such a stupid fuck.” he whispered brokenly to himself, the heat rising in his nose and his cheeks. His eyes burned with acid and unspent happiness and fear. He didn’t like the falling. The lingering thoughts of people he shouldn’t let himself get close to.

But really, what was the harm in letting himself fall?

Roman hadn’t shown any signs of being so clingy she’d burn herself out on him. She was her own person, and maybe that’s what Awsten liked about her. She didn’t need him. She liked being around him, but Roman had been her own person with her own life before the singer had woken her up at 3 AM two weeks ago.

Two. Fucking. Weeks. That’s all it took for him to start tripping. To start singing to himself about the sparkling stars in her eyes. The sheen of her unkempt hair. He loved that she didn’t care. That she respected herself enough to not care what Awsten thought. He thought about her sweaters in ungodly heats, her smiles when he decided to act like a complete idiot. He was a cryptid, and she was the elderly couple in the woods. She’d never cage him. She’d never ask more than what he wanted to give of his own volition. That’s what made Roman so beautiful.

Not her soft freckles, her olive skin, or her vibrant blue and yellow eyes. Sometimes they were more grey than hazel. But that wasn’t the point. She was pretty, sure. But he liked the weird cloud within her. He liked her well worn hair ties she kept even though she never seemed to have her hair up around him. Awsten liked her old drawn on sneakers, and the fact that she had used Sharpies on her own walls.

Roman was something Awsten wanted to be around. He wanted to come back to Sunnyside Apartments, and have the freedom to kick her door open and shout “Honey! I’m home! I got the coconut bra you were talking about!” 

She’d love that. Roman already dealt with that and she took it in stride. She’d probably respond with something along the lines of “Dear, did you remember the matching grass skirt? You know I absolutely cannot do the hula unless I’m in a sneezing fit.” And then he’d learn she had hay fever, and he’d just smile at her and close her door softly, and hop over the back of her couch. But of course... none of this could happen, could it?

He wiped a tear from his cheek. The heat under his skin was getting unbearable. 

The alarm clock said it was now 5 AM, and his neck said he’d been sitting in this position for far too long to be craning it like that with no warning. Awsten groaned and rubbed his shoulder as he stood up from the floor. He wouldn’t be getting sleep tonight, and he’d be better off just getting on with his day.

But he didn’t have anything to do today. Not right now at least. It was far too early to be bugging Roman, and he wasn’t going to write now. He wanted to stew on this before he ever wrote it into song. His fingers needed to itch for it before he could let them out on paper. He’d learned that the hard way. Once you start writing it out, you give it up.

Now he was standing in the middle of his dark room, staring at a glowing green alarm clock. He felt purple. Very purple. The sickening and sadenning violet too. Where happiness could bloom in spares daydreams, and it would quickly wilt in the bitter sweet self deprecation. He felt a murmuring sob bubble in his throat as another tear fell. 

He coughed, trying to cover the bitter sound. Eye sweating was one thing. Sobbing was a broken bitch thing, and Awsten wasn’t willing to accept that yet. Broken bitches either broke forever, or asked for help and he wasn’t ready for either.

Awsten slumped back to the floor. This time he laid flat on his stomach, focusing on the feeling of his clumping wiry carpet against his stubbled cheek. That strange sensation of being able to breath again washed over him, and this time he couldn’t suppress the little cry that wiggled out of his throat.

“Roman? Is there a chance you could love someone who’s not even a person? Someone who copes by talking to his carpet at 5:30 in the morning? Do you even like guys?” There was so much he wanted to know about the woman underneath him, probably snoring softly on her bed.

“Do I read too much into your little twitches? Do I care too much too fast? Does it even matter at this point?” Would she ever know? 

Roman would care. Awsten already knew that. She just… she gave vibes. As dumb as that sounds. She gives strong vibes, like she loves deep and forever. She leaves her mark on everyone she touches, and Awsten can’t help but get lost in the fact that she’s the only permanence he’s felt in a long while.

She obviously wasn’t permanent in the practical sense. But she made so many waves, and she’d be stuck with him for so long. He could already feel it. Call it spiritual, call it insane, it was definitely a thing Awsten was used to by now.

He closed his eyes and squeezed the excess tears from his eyes before rubbing his face again. Being sad was exhausting, maybe he’d actually get some sleep.

= = = = =

He woke to dull sunlight filtering through his blinds, and the crusty remnants of tears on his face. Awsten scrunched his face up and propped himself up to see his alarm clock. “7:30? Ugh.”

A nap. He’d gotten a fucking nap. Awsten wasn’t even sure what had woken him up. He let out a small groan and let his face drop back onto the warm scratchy carpet. 

It’d be about now that Roman would be waking up so long as she went to bed fine last night. He let a smile creep across his face. He raised a foot and lightly kicked the floor a few times. Like knocking, but with his gross toes.

“Rooooommaaaaaaan.” he cheerily said to the carpet. What were the chances she’d actually be awake below him?


End file.
